


With the same hot blood burning in our veins

by Ferrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 300th episode, Coda 14x13, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Episode s14e13 Lebanon, Established Relationship, Incest Kink, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, Possessive Sam Winchester, Season/Series 14, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, mentions of parent/child incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrera/pseuds/Ferrera
Summary: After Dad’s gone, Sam finds his filthy fucking mouth back.





	With the same hot blood burning in our veins

**Author's Note:**

> After _Lebanon_ I just couldn’t help myself. This is pure filth. Please mind the tags.
> 
> Title taken from Adam Raised a Cain by Bruce Springsteen. Sorry, Boss.

  
“Invest in a treadmill desk,” Dean recites, eyes stern, voice low and serious, “don’t drink coffee—”   
  
  
“ _Dean_ —”  
 

“And stick to a raw food diet.”  
 

Dean smirks; Sam sighs, rolls his eyes at him.  
 

“I mean, God bless kale, am I right?”  
 

“Shut _up_ ,” Sam huffs and Dean breaks out in laughter, the stern look gone, all the lines around his eyes and mouth reappearing.  
 

“God, Sammy, it’s been an embarrassing day for you,” Dean says, amusement still clear in his voice, “and I haven’t even talked about the way you sat at the table when we were catching up with Dad,” he continues, eyes sparkling with joy. Sam rolls his in return once again.  
 

“You looked just like you did when you were ten years old, Sammy, the way you sat there all shy and condemned, staring down at your hands bunched in your lap.”  
 

“Dean, _enough_ ,” Sam says, wriggles his hands under Dean’s sleeping shirt, smirking at his brother’s sharp inhale at the touch of his cold hands to his smooth, warm skin. Used to be his only proper move back when he actually _was_ ten. “ _You_ were the one who could barely look him in the eye as he concluded we’re not only still living together, but also pretty much raising a kid together.”  
 

Dean huffs, wriggles around a little, snuggling into the memory foam mattress before facing Sam again.  
 

“‘S not true,” he says, laughter fading from his voice, his face.  
 

“What if he noticed?” Sam murmurs, hands back on his brother’s belly, fingers teasingly tracking up and down. “What if he knew right away what we’ve gotten up to since he died?” He feels the muscles in Dean’s belly contract under his baby soft skin, hears the embarrassed little sound Dean lets out. _Gotcha_. _My turn now_.  
 

“God, Sammy,” Dean says, then swallows visibly. “I— fuck, I was afraid he’d see right through me the moment he pointed that goddamn shotgun at me.”  
 

Sam scoots a little closer, nuzzles carefully against the bruised side of Dean’s face, his mouth brushing against Dean’s ear. “Daddy’s good little boy, so far off the reservation...”  
 

Dean makes a sound that sounds more like a whimper than the groan he was probably going for, and Sam leans back a little, studies his face, but it’s too dark in the room and Dean’s cheek is too bruised to properly see if he’s blushing.  
 

“Keeping up appearance, huh, lookin’ all neat and pretty these days, no ripped jeans anymore, hair neatly combed,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his brother’s combed-up, sleek strands of hair. “Making sure Mom has no idea of all the filthy thoughts running around in your head, all the sick shit we get up to behind her back.”  
 

“Sammy,” Dean groans, pressing his palm to Sam’s bare chest, pushing a little, but there’s no heat in it. “You too, Sammy, fuck, you’ve been tryin’ just as hard—”  
 

Sam ignores him, nuzzles his face some more, enjoying the feeling of Dean’s slight stubble against his lips, the soft little sighs he lets out.  
 

“What would you have said if Dad had seen right through you? If he’d asked what the hell’s been going on since he died?”  
 

Dean’s eyes scrunch closed and he shakes his head, like a little kid who doesn’t want to hear that Santa isn’t real. God, Sam would kiss him if he wasn’t so intent on making his big brother squirm.  
 

“How’d you explain yourself to Dad, huh, Dean?”  
 

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean says, tilting his face up to Sam’s, looking for a kiss. Sam can’t help but smile a little against his mouth as he slightly brushes their lips together, then leans back.  
 

“C’mon Dean, what’d you say?” He slips his hand down lower, over the front of Dean’s sweatpants. “What if he asked how long this has been going on?”  
 

Dean groans as Sam cups him through the fabric, eyes fluttering closed.  
 

“Bet you couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him we’ve been messing around since I was fourteen.”  
 

“God, no, Sammy, fuck—”  
 

“You really think he never suspected anything back when we were kids? God, Dean, you were so fucking pretty back then, I would look at you all day, couldn’t ever keep my eyes off you. I’m sure he must’ve noticed.” He nuzzles his face against Dean’s neck, noses along the pulsing vein there.  
 

“Would get hard at the smallest things you did, then flee to the bathroom to rub one out at the thought of getting on my knees for you, of your dick in my mouth.”  
 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean breathes, hands clutching at Sam’s bare chest.  
 

“Think he could see just what I saw when I looked at you, Dean, fuck— don’t tell me you never noticed the way he sometimes looked at you. Always the prettiest boy around, no matter where we went, and Dad knew it, too.”  
 

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean whimpers, “shut _up_ ,” but when Sam cups him through his sweats again, he’s more than half-hard.  
 

“Tell me,” Sam demands, palming Dean’s cock through the fabric of his sweats, “did you see the way Dad used to look at you? The way he’d rest his eyes on your mouth, how he’d follow your pretty bowlegs when you would walk around wearing nothing but a pair of boxers?”  
 

Dean whimpers, bucking his hips up, rubbing himself against Sam’s broad palm. He hides his face in Sam’s hair, and Sam feels him shaking his head.  
 

“What was that like, huh, growing up with both your little brother and your dad lusting after you?”  
 

“Don’t,” Dean warns, blunt nails digging into Sam’s chest, “fuck, Sammy, _don’t_ —”  
 

“You’d be lying through your fucking teeth if you’d tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” Sam says, withdrawing his hand from his brother’s rock hard dick, clutching it in Dean’s hair instead to pull him back a little, make his brother look him in the eyes.  
 

“Saw you looking at him too, Dean.” He leans in again, mouth and nose brushing against Dean’s cheek. “Got me so fucking jealous,” he growls, teeth scraping across the bruised, sensitive side of Dean’s face. “When I was, what, twelve or thirteen, still all lanky, and Dad was the only one you’d look at— Fuck, Dean, and Dad looking at _you_ — I mean, how could he _not_ , you were so goddamn beautiful, you still are, but God, Dean, I hated him for it, and I hated you for returning his gaze.”  
 

“Sammy,” Dean groans, hands coming up to grab at Sam’s face. “Sam, I’ve never wanted— never wanted Dad the way I’ve always wanted you, you know that.”  
 

“But you would’ve let him,” Sam says, trying not to sound too accusing.  
  


“God, Sammy, fuck, if he’d— then maybe I would’ve— but he never, you _know_ that,” Dean says, voice bordering on desperation.  
 

It’s okay now, it really is. Sam’s at peace with the mess that unfolded between the three of them after Mom died. Seeing Dad again, talking to him, and seeing what could have become of him and Dean; all of it has made him realize Dad and he are no longer competing, maybe never even _were_ competing for Dean’s love. Dad had never once touched Dean, and even if he would have, even if Dean would have let him, that would’ve been before Dean had known how Sam felt about him, and it wouldn’t have meant he’d love Sam any less. Dean would, and always _will_ choose Sam over Dad every single time, that much he has learned tonight.  
 

“Sammy,” Dean says, eyes wide, his forehead all scrunched up. “Say something, Sammy, please—”  
 

“It’s okay,” Sam says, kisses Dean’s plump, slightly pouty lips before he continues, “God, I— I get it, Dean, I mean, the way he raised us, the way we only had each other, and I know it’s fucked up but I can see why you… Fuck, Dean, I wanna know now, tell me about it.” He reaches for his brothers dick again, feels exactly where he’s been soaking the fabric of his sweats.  
 

“Tell you about _what_ ,” Dean groans as Sam tugs his sweatpants down and lets his dick slap free against his belly, no boxers, always giving Sam easy access. God, some sick part of him still wishes Dad would’ve seen how much of a slut for his little brother Dean has become.  
 

“About Dad,” Sam prompts, taking his big brother’s leaking dick in hand. “About what you wanted from him.” Dean swears, bucks his hips, desperate for more, but Sam’s gonna make him work for it.  
  


“C'mon, Dean,” he says, jerking him a way that he knows is a little too slow for Dean's liking.  
  
  
“God, Sam, you don't wanna know,” Dean grunts as he hides his face against Sam's shoulder.  
  


“I didn't wanna see it back then,” Sam confesses, mouth muffled against his hair. “I wished I was blind. I couldn't stand looking at you and not being allowed to touch you. I couldn't stand to see dad looking at you with that hunger in his gaze— couldn't fucking stand to see you looking back at him, but not _me_.”

  
“Sammy, you were, what, not even _thirteen_ — Wasn't supposed to look at you, was I.” He's panting hard against Sam's chest as he keeps bucking his hips, his breath coming out in hot, wet puffs against Sam's skin.  
  


“You weren't supposed to look at Dad either,” Sam counters, “but that didn't stop you.”

  
Dean grunts again, shakes his head against Sam's chest.  
 

“C’mon, Dean, tell me. Don’t be shy now, after seeing him again. Thought he looked pretty good for an old man, didn’t he?”  
 

“Oh my god,” Dean gasps. He's bucking into Sam's hand in uncontrolled little stutters, going faster and faster.  
 

“Too bad you wanted him gone right after dinner,” Sam continues, carefully cupping Dean’s cheek with his free hand, making him look back up. "Think he would've liked to stay at least one night. You would’ve made it so good for him, wouldn’t you?”  
 

“Sammy, don’t you _dare_ —”  
 

“Tell me, Dean,” he murmurs as he brushes the pad of his thumb over Dean’s lower lip, tugs it down a little. “Would you finally use that pretty mouth on him?”  
 

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean pants, his breath hot against Sam’s face, eyes firmly closed.  
 

“You would,” Sam smirks, “you would let Dad use your mouth.” He brings a hand up to Dean’s throat, closing it loosely around it, barely any pressure. “You’d let him fuck your throat until he comes, then swallow it all, be a good little boy for Daddy.”  
 

“Shut _up_ ,” Dean groans, but he keeps pumping into Sam’s fist, hands clutching at Sam’s shoulders, his hair, his face. Sam moves his hand back up to Dean’s face, pushes two fingers past his lips to make him shut the fuck up.  
 

“You fucking get off on this,” Sam says, absolutely no pity on his brother, “can’t tell me otherwise. Think he’d wanna have a taste of you too? Have you on your back, spread your legs and eat you out like a girl?”  
 

Dean _nngghhhs_ around Sam’s fingers, biting down a little. His whole body is trembling, so close to coming, and Sam knows just how to get him there.  
 

“Bet you’d fucking love to have him eating you out, get you ready for him to take you apart.”  
 

Dean gasps, half-choking on Sam’s fingers. “You’d give it up for him in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? He’d only have to tell you to bend over and spread your legs for him and you’d do it. Always daddy’s good little boy.” Dean bites down hard as he’s coming, spilling all over Sam’s fist, their stomachs, his pushed-down sweats, fucking everywhere. Sam pulls his fingers back and kisses him hard, puts his hands on either side of his brother’s face to pull him in, taste more of him. It isn’t until Dean winces that Sam’s reminded of his bruised face.  
 

He murmurs a _sorry_ against Dean’s temple, places a soft kiss on his bruised cheekbone. Dean is all lax and pliant as Sam rolls him over easily and spoons him. He pushes his own sweatpants down and tugs Dean’s hips closer, nudges his hard dick against Dean’s plush ass. Dean melts into the touch like second nature, pushing back against Sam’s aching dick.  
 

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean pants, chest still heaving from his orgasm. “No matter what you wanna make me believe, _you’re_ the sickest fuck of this family, you know that?”  
 

Sam can’t suppress a smug smile as he lazily rubs his dick along the cleft of Dean’s ass. He wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulder, across his chest, pulls him closer.  
 

“You’d choose this sick version over the kale version every single time and you know it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda feel like I’m going out on a limb here, this is my first coda and my first fic that isn’t pre-series. Feedback is very much appreciated. Also, if you wanna talk about John/Dean or John/Sam maybe, come find me at [tumblr](http://www.saintedevote.tumblr.com), I’m fucking desperate to talk about John and his boys. Thanks for reading!


End file.
